The Old Farm Dog
by Lucy Kay
Summary: Because where would the farmer be without the stray? Just a story about a boy and his dog. Written for an old friend. Picture is not mine.
1. We Met

This was something I had to do. In light of recent events, there really wasn't anything _else_ I could do. This came out in a ten-shot, also as my first, full Save the Homeland story. It was my first Harvest Moon game, and it's very close to my heart. Just like my own, fuzzy friend.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

 **We Met**

* * *

Tony wasn't a rich man. No spare change jangling around in his jean pockets, no sweets in the cupboard. Just the bare essentials. His mother would bemoan how he didn't have the money for a decent haircut, letting his shaggy tresses grow long and straight, banded at the nape of his neck. He lacked the proper physique for this life he chose, too, impoverished even in muscles. He was young, gangly, fresh out of school, and all on his own.

That's why he didn't hesitate when the stray showed up on his farm.

It appeared through the trees midway through a cloudy day, the air smelling of desperately needed rain. A lone silhouette emerging through the tangled brush on the outskirts of his property. Tony's feet led him to the pasture, almost in a trance as his eyes locked on the creature. He reached the fence and tipped the brim of his cap up and folded his arms atop a sidelong post, watching from a distance as the stray dog meandered by his barn. He wondered if it was sick or worse as he watched it sniff at the old, wood siding. But it wasn't every day he got visitors in these parts. It was a rare sight, indeed.

His granddaddy's land was remote, located dead center of nowhere, past the last long road where all backwater creeks met the ocean. It was lonely being so far away from anything and anybody despite the pastoral effect. Though there were a few settlers like himself up the mountain, Tony found himself more often than not, very alone. Every little thing that the day brought was a big surprise, a special moment. And this furry vagabond was no exception.

The first time Tony called out to it, the dog high-tailed it without even looking his direction. It skittered back around the side of the barn, tail tucked under its legs and head hung low. With the way it was hobbling along, it surprised him how fast he scampered off - like he heard the shot of a gun. He felt bad for scaring it away and would often wonder about it being out in the woods all alone at night, but there really wasn't anything he could do. It was especially prominent on rainy days, the despondency weighing down on him like his wet clothes. But there it was. Just about every day, circling around his barn and field, snuffling at the dirt. Back again to inspect, trudge around, and vacantly stare at him. Tony would watch it from a careful distance, and he was free to do so until the dog noticed him staring. Then he would finish his rounds and head back into the security of the surrounding forest like the whistle blew and the patrol was over.

Tony didn't know where it came from or where it was headed, but he felt a strange kinship with the dog. It became routine, seeing him haunting his peripheral under the shadows of the trees. He wondered how old he was, as he looked quite young despite his appearance. His coat was matted and scraggly, three ribs showing along his sides tight as a drum. Eyes downcast, not really seeing as he hobbled along with a deep hunch in its shoulders. Aimless, yet still with a set path to nowhere in his padded feet.

Well, if nowhere was what he was looking for, he sure found it alright. Tony had found it, too, about a year ago. Now here they both were.

Tony began leaving his table scraps on a dish behind his barn. He couldn't stand seeing it starve itself to death, even if it seemed perfectly content to do so. Like that was the plan all along, just wasting away quietly as he orbited the farm. Almost like the dog had chosen this place to end. Sniffed the ground and thought 'yup. Here's good. This is where I'll stay.' And there he did.

The food began to disappear, and Tony thought it was the coons at night. But one evening after supper, he caught the dog waiting at the plate. It took off when it heard Tony's footfall, but the farmer's hope was renewed. He began feeding it more regularly. And slowly, steadily, the circles of the lonely dog got closer and closer, drawing in, shrinking. Bringing it closer to the farmer.

One day in particular was very hot and muggy with thick cloud cover and high humidity. Tony was waiting for it to storm, but he hadn't heard a rumble all day. He slumped against the old silo and rubbed the crick out of his neck. He pulled the zipper on his rucksack, found his ham sandwich, and took a bite for lunch. But he felt eyes on him. Not the usual baleful gazes of the cows or the beady stares of the chickens. He turned, ever so carefully, and found the soulful eyes of the stray looking back at him just a few, short paces away. Or more accurately, it was staring at his sandwich.

Tony swallowed his mouthful, measuring his movements to keep them slow and unsuspicious. He tore off a corner from the piece of ham between the bread. Biting his lip, he lightly tossed it towards the dog. It cowed away, recoiling like it had been struck. It remained quiet as Tony stayed put on the ground, keeping his attention away from the stray yet desperate to see if he'd taken it up. Then he heard the telltale smack. When he looked back, the ham was gone, and the dog was calmer, sniffing the air for more meat to fall his way.

The farmer smiled, stretching out his legs and swinging his boots together in amusement as he tore off more of his sandwich. He threw it to the dog, and it didn't hesitate to pick it up the second time. It stepped as close to Tony as he dared, just within arm's length. Tony laughed as he gave an almost indignant whine. "Hey, I gotta eat, too… Let's split it even."

Tony did as he promised and ripped the sandwich in two. He stuck his half in between his own teeth and rolled the rest over to the dog. The stray gobbled it up, not chewing it for more than three sloppy bites before it was gone. The sad, straight tail gently wagged, and it closed the distance as it sniffed for crumbs.

"Oh, you ain't shy anymore? Finally introduce yourself?" Tony teased and held his arms up out of the way as it sniffed his shirt and the suspenders holding up his dusty work pants. He was no longer suspicious of the stray just as he seemed to no longer suspect the farmer of any funny business. Tony dropped his hands to his lap, and the dog nosed his open palms, finding them empty. "See? No more. You ate it all."

The stray plopped down and took a seat beside him. Tony could hear its belly gurgle in hunger despite the taste of his sandwich he got. The dog's warm tongue licked the palm of Tony's fingerless gloves, smelling the ham that was once there. His tail swished faster behind him along the dry dirt.

Tony laid a careful hand atop the dog's head, finding the fur there surprisingly soft. His lips broke into a sad smile. "Good dog…"

He knew it then. Tony wasn't rich. But what he had found, out there in the middle of nothing, couldn't be bought anyhow. Right then… was where they would begin.


	2. I Built a Home for You

After a long hiatus, I'm back to update my stories! And hopefully finish this one ASAP. This wasn't meant to be a big project, but I'm still looking forward to this little journey.

Thank you so much for the reviews, Guest, Trajectory of Simplicity, Accidentally The Whole Fanfic, and DesertRoseSparty! I can't make any promises, but I really hope you'll like this story until it ends. Thank you for your help and support, and I'll do my absolute best not to disappoint!

And as a side note, I'm glad you like the southernisms! I found I really liked giving my characters an accent writing Kathy, and I'll need a helluva lot of practice for the future since I have a protagonist coming up who's more country than biscuits and gravy. I hope it's just cheesy enough, and I'll be happy to get help improving it as I go along! :D

* * *

 **I Built a Home for You**

* * *

If it wasn't already painfully obvious from the size of Tony's biceps, he didn't build the farm up from nothing himself. In fact, when it came to carpentry, he was more likely to walk away in bandages than with results. It wasn't his skill, but it did so happen that it _was_ his grandfather's. Everything from the hollow barn to the cozy coop to his own rickety house was hand-crafted by his late Pappy. Including the pin-hole ridden, wood-rotten dog house by the well.

The stray watched Tony from a safe, comfortable distance out in the field. Now that they were acquaintances, he wasn't so skittish, but the farmer's mannerisms were still unfamiliar to him. He was a quiet dog who was more prone to observe. And watching as the young man dropped the hammer and cursed was rather entertaining. His tail flopped in recognition as Tony's eyes connected with the stray's.

"Don't gimme that look…" Tony muttered as the dog lolled his tongue out happily at being seen at his post. His back seemed to straighten with pride as his tail thumped faster against the ground. Tony looked back to the dog house and grumbled as he held his sore thumb tight in his fist. "I'll have a hundred splinters, but I'll get this thing fixed for ya… spoiled mutt."

Tony's granddaddy was a go-getter kind of man, and Tony liked to think of himself in a similar light as he once again picked up the hammer and used the back of it to pry another chunk of crumbling wood from the roof. His mother would've said it was foolish to try following in such big footsteps, impossible to fill the shoes of a man hardened like the earth he plowed, but Tony had to try. All that was left for him was out here in the burning sun and the scorched plains. And he'd be damned if he let a simple task like building a dog house be his limit.

He rubbed his gloved hands on his waist where his work shirt was tied to be out of the way, the heat prompting him to take it off and leave his chest bare and his back sunburnt. Tony swiped the back of his wrist over his slick brow and plopped down on his rear in defeat. He critically eyed his work, proud to have at least gotten the worm-eaten roof off. But he'd need fresh wood to replace the box itself, and he didn't know how he'd cut out a door. He should've taken that shop class in school where they built the birdhouses…

His choices being to go out and collect new lumber, fashion a house from it, and build it to last versus just lighting what was left on fire, Tony saw the obvious answer. He had some matches in the drawer by the sink – and he didn't need kindling in the dry, summer heat. It'd go quick, and he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

The stray carefully wandered its way over, sniffing the ground to feign nonchalance just out of Tony's reach. The farmer smirked in shame at his failure. "Sorry, bud. Looks like you picked the wrong guy. There's a real carpenter or two up the mountain – you should beg ham offa them. Getcha a house twice as nice as mine at any rate."

Why'd he think he could keep a dog anyways? He was barely scraping by as it was. He lived off of the sad, shriveled crops he grew, milk, and eggs. _So many_ damn eggs. But his chickens were the most faithfully producing of his livestock, so Tony didn't want to complain. He'd have to visit Ronald soon at the grocery. See if he'd trade some potatoes and eggs for some lunchmeat and bread again. Get some cans of beans… What did dogs eat? He doubted anyone around these parts had dog food, and Tony couldn't afford meat all of the time. Eggs? Hopefully, it was eggs.

Tony looked up and read the sky, the clouds over the ocean churning ever closer. It'd storm again soon. Definitely heavy rain tonight. If he wasn't going to finish this dog house, there was only one thing left to do.

The door creaked with a pleasant familiarity. Tony held it open and the stray didn't understand the invitation. Tony whistled to prompt him, and the dog's curiosity was piqued. He sniffed the ground all of the way, slow and thorough as Tony waited with the door. He then stood at Tony's feet, staring into the dim, one-room house.

"Get on, Dog. We're lettin' the flies in," Tony commanded, nudging him with his boot at the back of his legs. The stray ran in, suddenly excitable and eager to sniff everything inside. He sprinted back and forth across the room, not used to being in an enclosed space, but he didn't seem totally unfamiliar with the concept either. He wasn't scared. The farmer couldn't help but think the dog might've had a home to call his own at one point, but it was lost in whatever hazy memories animals could hold.

The door swept back on its spring hinge behind them and shuddered closed. Tony crossed his arms by the entryway and just smiled, glad to see the dog so openly happy, tail beating back and forth in a steady rhythm. It wasn't until the stray leapt up onto his checkered quilt that he shouted in alarm and ran to get him off.

It was too late. He had rolled, and mud and a few mites (to Tony's absolute horror) were left on his bed. The stray wasn't bothered in the slightest, and he had happily gone to explore the next corner of the house where an old television was stacked on old vegetable crates.

Tony groaned in frustration and rubbed his hands over his face until the skin felt raw. Then he grabbed the quilt and yanked the bedding clear off. Better to get the laundry done while there was still some sun left.

* * *

"Here, boy… I ain't gonna hurtcha…"

For the first time since meeting Tony, the dog straight up wasn't having it. That soft, cooing voice only spelt trouble. And that garden hose looked like a snake monster. No, thank you; you can keep that.

By this time, the clouds had covered most of the sky with patches of afternoon sun blinking in and out between the gusts of wind. Tony's prediction of a storm was fast coming true, and the chickens squawked in warning whenever a particularly nasty boon swept up from the ocean in a salty mist over the fence. The quilt and sheet and Tony's shirt were all hung up along the line connecting the corner of the house to the chicken coop, and the cows were all brushed and ready to be rounded up and put to bed. All that was left to do was to give this mongrel a good bath.

If Tony was going to share his house with this dirt bag, he was determined to make 'im shine. "I'm not gettin' ticks from you… Get _over_ here!"

The dog just missed his grab and circled back to his safe spot. Tony splashed the water with his hand from the running hose towards the dog, showing him it wasn't cold, and there was nothing to be afraid of. But the dog stayed put just out of spraying distance, stoically indifferent to the farmer's pleas.

It wasn't long before a low rumble from the sky made Tony lose his patience, and he tried to physically drag the dog near enough to be washed. But he scampered off, treating it like a game to stay dry. At his wit's end, Tony was forced to use seedier methods.

"That's it… c'mon…" Tony coaxed with a wicked, victorious grin as the dog inched closer and closer. He dangled the treat in front of his nose, getting him to step nearer to being caught. "Smells like the last piece of ham, don't it? Yeah, that's pretty good… just a bit… closer now… Gotcha!"

Just as Tony lost his last potential sandwich to the dog's mouth, the farmer roped a loop made from hay bailing twine around the stray's head. He cinched it tight, binding the dog to the water spicket. Tony snatched up the hose and turned the faded valve until water came gushing out. The dog panicked and struggled back but found he was tied fast. Tony thoroughly doused him until he was pathetically dripping there, looking lost and impossibly thinner.

Tony couldn't help but laugh out loud at the sight. The proud dog was left rooted to the spot and utterly humiliated. Gloves cast aside, Tony took up his own bottle of shampoo and got a dollop lathered between his palms until it was all suds. He was nervous he'd anger the stray and get himself bit, but he couldn't give off any negative vibes. He had to show he was in charge, and this was to help him out.

The dog stood without a sound, without moving, as Tony got him all scrubbed up. His fur was knotted and mangled on his sides, and clumps of packed dirt needed to soak in the warm water before they broke away. Tony rinsed and repeated several times, and the stray never fought him.

Tony felt sad as he realized this dog had never been clean in his life. His hands went back over his prominent spine, smoothing out the fur and rinsing away the soap. "All of this and you ain't nipped me once… Don't got a mean bone in your body, do ya?"

At the sound of his voice, the soggy tail twitched just slightly. Determining the job was done and he'd put him through enough, Tony picked up an old, ratty towel he had ready that moths had eaten a hole or two out of. He gently began to dry him off, careful not to rub too hard or tangle the fur he'd spent so long setting straight. The dog helped him out, giving a good shake or two and forcing Tony to hold up the towel for cover.

Finally done, Tony collected all of the bath stuff in a pail and took the blankets from the line. The dog went right back to laying belly down in the dust, but he panted with content and watched Tony go back and forth with his tasks. Every time he'd pass, Tony would have to do a double take to make sure it was the same dog from before. The fur was fuller with a slight sheen, but the color was muted and splotchy. His ears were bent into perfect rust-colored triangles framing his grinning face with the slightest hint of a whitish pink scar running over his right eye. He was three shades lighter and looked ten times happier than he had before. With some more lunchmeat (and eggs) to fill him out, he'd start looking like somebody's dog.

Tony squatted down in front of the stray who stood up to meet him at eye level. He took his red handkerchief from out of his back pocket and wrapped it around his hand. With a gentle touch, he very carefully wiped the corners of the dog's eyes where weeping tracks had made stains and a possible infection had started to heal in his left, glassy eye. There was a lot of soul in his eyes. They were a bit brighter. A bit brown. Tony stared into them, seeing his reflection staring back.

He smiled and ruffled the soft fuzz behind the dog's ear. He stood up and gave his thigh a pat to signal him. The dog willingly followed behind him towards the screen door which he held open wide once again. Take two. "Come on… this is your home, too, now."

So much for a dog house. It looked like Tony's whole house just became one.


	3. My Shadow

This story isn't a huge commitment for me, so that strangely makes it easier to update. Whoooops. I'll get on my other stories. Eventually. Oi.

Thanks for the review last chapter, Accidentally the Whole Fanfic! I gotta say, I was surprised that I'm updating once again on a Sunday, but maybe that's just my lucky day.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

 **My Shadow**

* * *

Tony was beginning to see it. Slow and steady. At first, he thought bringing in the stray was something like charity, but it was rounding back on him. He was changing himself. He was happier. More confident. His days seemed shorter, and he had more fun. Having the dog around was making his whole outlook change. It was good.

The dog was only making their bonding easier and stronger, following Tony absolutely anywhere and everywhere he would go. The distance closed with every passing day until he was practically right on his heels. While plowing, Tony backed up too fast and nearly stepped on him, and that's when he noticed it. He had a bigger shadow.

It wasn't all sunshine and rows of corn – once or twice it could get annoying. Other than the previously mentioned clumsy trip that was becoming more and more frequent, the chickens wouldn't come anywhere near Tony anymore with the dog in tow, making rounding them up a nightmare. And he found if he was careless enough to drop any of his snacks, they'd be good as gone. He had to start leaving his food in higher places, being smart about where he set things down. Because that was something else the dog was good at. Chewing.

First it was his slippers. Typical. It wasn't like he used them anyways. Tony let him have them – the dog liked them better than he ever did, gnawing on the leather until it was in shreds. But then it was his old school notebooks, and then, oddly enough, the side of the chicken coop. And he was never interested in any sticks or bound pieces of rope Tony had knotted for him. Nope, those just weren't chewable enough. It took Tony long enough for him to see the dog numbly scraping his canines along the siding of the old wood coop to realize that he wasn't chewing because he was trying to grow in teeth or be a pain in the ass – but because he was just so damn _bored_.

So Tony had him up and moving as much as possible. If he saw him getting idle, he'd whistle, and the stray would come running – no matter where he was. The dog was a good listener, so it proved he just needed something to do. And having a shadow was more welcome than having another mess to clean up.

But other than feeling like he was playing Simon Says every hour of the day, it was a welcome change. The dog was getting better at reading his footsteps and keeping out of the way, and Tony liked the company. He didn't realize why his own voice sounded so weird for awhile until he remembered that the last time he'd spoken out loud to anybody was the last time he'd been to the store – a good two months ago. Even though he couldn't talk back, it was nice that Tony had someone to talk _to_. His loneliness was ebbing away.

It was after another long day of work. Tony, used to the routine, opened the door and stepped in first, holding it open with his foot. In trudged the dog he never named, taking his damn good time despite the rain blowing in behind them. The door finally slammed, and the dog shook his fur, splattering the walls. Tony was kneeling to unlace his boots, getting a face full. He shoved the dog's hindquarters, and he responded by trotting off to spread his puddle across the room.

Their trip to the barn was uneventful. The cows' swaying along with their rhythmic tails, watching the stray as he ran back and forth at Tony's heels. But the coop was a flurry of feathers yet again. Tony couldn't just leave the dog out in the rain while he went to the chickens – he just didn't have the heart to close the door on him. He'd become a big baby. So he'd let the tramp in. The hens would squawk in panic and flee to the rafters, the cowardly rooster the first to go, screaming over the noisy clucks of his brood above their heads. Tony would rush through and get the dog out, but today, they seemed especially distempered since they were kept in out of the rain for the third day in a row. Tony's ears were still ringing in the quiet house.

Tony took off his hat and set it over his boots. He looked up just in time to see the dog had his front paws up on the bed already, and he was preparing to jump. "Hey, hey, hey! Get offa there – you're all wet! C'mere. Still no manners…"

Tongue lolling in happy loyalty, the dog obeyed and trotted over to Tony. The farmer went to the dresser and rifled until he found a towel, using it on his own head first. His hair thoroughly ruffled on top with his ponytail permanently tangled at the nape of his neck, Tony knelt down to share. The dog wandered over and waited with his head down as Tony rubbed the towel along his shoulders and back. He couldn't help but notice the difference from his first bath – he'd really filled out. There was muscle and fat that didn't exist before, making him feel more solid and strong. Tony wasn't scared of breaking him now. When he was done, the dog shook again for good measure. Just in case.

"Well, what's our day now? All this rain coopin' us up. I get how the chickens feel…" Tony muttered. He turned to stand and cracked his head on the dresser drawer he left open. He grabbed the sore spot and cursed his stupidity, shoving the drawer shut with a bang and tossing the towel aside. A few items balanced on top fell over and rolled, one or two falling back behind the dresser with a clatter.

The dog leapt up on the bed without acknowledging the noise, curling up and getting cozy. He let out a little sigh when he settled in, big eyes blinking at Tony.

Tony righted the things atop the dresser and got on all fours to try to see what fell behind. He squinted at the dark cranny and tried to squeeze his arm in. His fingertips moved through cobwebs until his hands found the object. It was a screwdriver – why'd he leave that out anyways? He pulled and got his hand caught at the wrist, forcing him to maneuver to freedom. He looked at the dusty tool and the webs coating his hand with a stitch of annoyance in his brow. Maybe he should spend the day tidying up. He did a double take and realized he could still see something lodged beneath the dresser, even though the only thing that went missing was already in his hand. "Hrm…"

After struggling from both sides, Tony went to the front of the dresser and got on his stomach to peer underneath. _The hell is that?_ It appeared to be some kind of tube with divots. He pressed his face against the side of the dresser and reached, finding he could grab it, and he tugged it out. It clunked and made an odd, hollow sound. He brought it into the light, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

His old, wooden flute. Not _his_ flute exactly but his grandfather's. It was more of a glorified recorder, but the sound was a little less harsh and more lonesome. Tony had vague memories of its soulful sound deep in the recesses of his childhood, blurring with the quiet pattering of the rain on the roof. If he closed his eyes, it felt like he could really still hear a song's distant echo. It ached somewhere melancholy in his heart.

He crossed his legs and looked it over. He dusted it off well and good on his jeans and rubbed the mouthpiece clean on his shirt. He held it up to the lamp hanging in the center of the room, looking through it like a telescope. Didn't look like there were any spiders, but he thought he'd give it a good test anyways. He filled his lungs and breathed through the reed without covering any of the holes, creating a loud, steady whistle that blew out more dust. Tony happily ran it along his shirt again to polish up the mouthpiece. "There. Good as new, eh?"

His head automatically turned to the dog for validation, and Tony was surprised to see his ears were perked and his back straightened in alert. He was staring very intensely around the room, like he couldn't tell where the noise came from or what it was.

Tony smirked at his reaction. Holding the flute to his lips again, he blew through it with less force. He pressed his fingers along the short row of six holes, varying the notes coming out. The dog jumped right off of the bed and ran to Tony, sniffing the flute and getting right in his face. It could've been fear or protectiveness, but Tony felt it was coming from curiosity. He chuckled as his snout bumped the flute out of his mouth, and he gave him a reassuring pat on the head.

"It's music, ya nimrod. Er, well, s'posed to be, anyways. Here – lemme see if I can play somethin' you'll like," he said. Tony's day was quickly becoming a music lesson. He sat up straight and held the flute out of the way of the dog who was still trying to sniff it. He got sick of dodging and pushed him back, so he could give a song a shot. "How'd that go…?"

Tony tested a few notes, trying to remember how that song in those fuzzy memories of his went. Since he didn't know anything about what finger position made what sound, it was a trial and error process. With every try, he'd have to push the dog back out of the way. The dog would sit until Tony played a note, and he'd jump back up to get close to the suspicious sounding flute again. He finally found the right order – or what sounded close – and he played it a few times to be sure, trying to jog his memory for the rest of the song.

"Will ya…?! Sit," Tony commanded, pushing down on the dog's rear and going back to his flute. He was feeling frustrated that he couldn't remember, and it seemed to be slipping further away. He played the first two notes, and the dog went forward again. But on the third note, the dog sat.

Tony didn't notice the first few times he did this. He continued to fiddle along, his mouth going quite dry. He just so happened to look over at the dog, defensively ready to block him, when he saw him sit down on his own. An idea struck him as he made the connection, and Tony became more excited. He turned to face the dog and played it again.

Since Tony moved, the dog was distracted and forgot the command. He stood for all three notes, his tail wagging as he stared up at Tony. Tony pointed, trying to get him to sit again. He played the three notes and pressed on his back. "Sit. Go on – put your butt down. There! Good boy! You stay now!"

Tony began playing, but the dog remained seated. He realized it wasn't going to work like this. He'd think the flute just meant 'sit.' But what if he could get him to remember these notes…? He could come up with other strings of simple commands. And jeez, Tony sure had all of the time in the world to practice with him. Might as well.

The farmer stood up and walked backwards to get some distance. The dog followed after him, and Tony quickly played the three notes. The dog didn't sit. Tony played the notes again and forced him down again. "There ya go. Sit. Sit. No, _sit_. 'Atta boy! Okay, you remember now. Try it again."

Tony moved backwards around the low center table, getting the dog to trail after him. With every third note, he'd make it a point to stop and get the dog to sit. He was starting to do it on his own, learning with their repetitive parade. Tony was so consumed in the task he missed a footfall, and he nearly fell onto the coffee table. He steadied himself and decided that was enough. He crashed onto a pillow he used as a chair, the dog coming up to him and catching up at last. His tail drummed against the ground as he sat and got his ear scratched for his hard work.

"Ya did good, bud," Tony hummed with a laugh at the dog's contentment. He meant it, too. He was so proud. He looked down at the flute in his fist and turned it over, seeing his granddaddy's initials lightly etched into the smooth surface.

Guess they could both learn new tricks.


	4. Nothing But Trouble

It's been quite a few Sundays since my last update, but here I am again! It's no surprise, but this story takes a certain mood for me to be in, and I've struck it lately. So I have some updates. Yup, multiple! Let's finish this one.

Thank you for your reviews Accidentally The Whole Fanfic and DesertRoseSparty! Always good to hear from you guys. Thanks for the revision help and your input. I really appreciate it.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

 **Nothing But Trouble**

* * *

The wooden crate hit the counter, and the grocer penciled in the last item on the list with his free hand. He did the quick math and scratched a line under the total. He tore the sheet from his pad and handed it to Tony, keeping the yellow copy for himself. "That look right to you?"

Tony didn't think he was about to get swindled, but he did the courtesy of looking over the list anyways and checking the man's count per his request. Ronald went around his store, taking items down from the shelves that were written on the copy and loading them into the crate at the counter. It wasn't a long list, so he was done by the time Tony had skimmed through his orders. He nodded to him in approval, pocketing the paper behind him.

"These veggies are lookin' great! You're a full-fledged farmer, alright," Ronald said, smoothing his mustache. He liked small talk. Liked to think he was pretty good at it, too. Hadn't met a person yet who didn't open up to his amiable smile. He took up a burlap sack for the last item on the list, opening a barrel that was full of wheat flour near the cash register. He used the scoop that was already elbow deep inside to fill the bag that was ready on the scale. "It's been what? Over a year now? Almost two?"

"Mm," Tony nodded in assent, watching the dial twitch on the scale as the flour weighed the arrow to point further and further to the right.

Unlike Ronald, Tony wasn't one for small talk. He never knew what to say to people. The months of solitude he had spent on his farm had grown on him, and he liked the quiet. All of his conversations were one-sided, just him saying whatever came to mind with his dog tilting his head back and forth in an attempt at understanding him. Talking with people was scarier. Tony might say the wrong thing and hurt someone's feelings, a joke might miss target, or a comment could fall flat and go wasted. There was a lot more hassle and polite tedium with people.

The flour puffed in a little cloud as Ronald dropped the scoop and tied off Tony's bag – a share that was more than he ordered, Tony noticed. He was a generous guy. Ronald hefted up the bag into the crate and gave the whole thing a nudge. Tony took the cue and put both hands on either side of the heavy receptacle. It'd be a long trip back to the farm with forty odd pounds in his arms.

"Hey," Ronald's hand caught the edge of the crate before it left his counter, and Tony's stomach flipped in surprise at the unexpected gesture. But the grocer smiled warmly and gave him a nod. "People 'round here like seein' ya. Know it's a hike for ya, but come 'round more often."

He knew the villagers in these parts thought he was an oddball keeping to himself, but they also understood he had a lot of work and wasn't exactly a party animal. Tony felt honesty guiltily bubbling up, making excuses. "I ain't… I don't wanna butt in on anyone."

Ronald dismissed that with a laugh. "Shoot, kid, you're one of us now. Nothin' but loners like you for fifty some miles! Might as well stick together. Come down to the bar; you're in good company."

Tony itched his nose. "Yeah?"

"Oh, sure! Wallace will spoil ya if you're 'round the lake sometime," he invited. The broken bell on the door clunkily clanged as oversized boots pounded in, scuffing the wood floor. It was the kid from up the hill with the weird looking hat. Ronald noticed the boy and beckoned to Tony, getting him to lean closer to keep their conversation private. "His granddaughter's 'bout your age. Could do ya some good to say hello every now and again, eh?"

Even if they meant well, older people could be awfully creepy. The bar sounded like a possible good time, but he didn't need nobody matchmaking for him. At least he knew what to look out for now. Tony gave a derisive snort and muttered a 'thanks again' before he was quickly on his way with his supplies. He avoided eye contact with the boy looking after his retreating back and heard the door swing shut behind him.

Fall leaves fluttered from the trees around him like rain, the wind whirling them around in torrents overhead and underfoot. Tony's boots clomped downhill across the tightly packed dirt of the path. The only footsteps his own, he felt a little melancholy. The little pat of his dog's feet wasn't at his side. He'd grown so used to it. He had left the dog alone back at the farm. He knew Ronald wouldn't have wanted him contaminating his store, but Tony half-hoped the bar wouldn't mind. After all, that dog was like Tony. He was a loner. Like Ronald said, wasn't the best they could do was to keep each other company?

He could hear the rooster crowing as he neared the farm. He hiked the crate up higher in his arms, chewing the inside of his lip as he readjusted the weight. A squirrel darted across the path ahead of him, but he didn't pay him any mind. Tony was making plans to try going out that night, getting the cattle in early and bringing his fuzzy farmhand along for the journey. He could manage it with the profit he got off of Ronald. And even though he didn't want to look overeager to meet anybody's granddaughter, he liked the idea of relaxing with a beer.

Tony wrinkled his brow and stopped. The road ahead made a sharp curve that opened up to his land. The clucking from his hens was even loud now, but it wasn't right. It wasn't the usual cackles of the flock. This sounded more panicked, hollering, distressed. He picked up the pace, his suspicions rising as he rounded the bend and took a gander at the mess.

The dog was safe and happy and covered in dirt. He was racing at top speed, his form lithe and healthy as he bounded across the field. Tongue lolling in bliss. Squawking ahead of him was a thoroughly ruffled hen, just out of reach of his bite at neck-breaking speed. Other hens rolled out of the way in flurries of feathers as the chase cut through the flock. The rooster headed the retreat and fled around behind the coop towards the woods.

"Hey!" Tony dropped his crate with a thump, taking off at a run towards them in pursuit. His dog was a faster sprinter than he was, but he had worn himself out with all of his fun. The dog thought it was a game, dodging as Tony neared and took a swipe at him. The hen managed to escape, and it was just Tony after the dog.

Tony slid as the dog took a turn and ran along the fence line of the pasture. Tony ran after him another few meters before slowing and coming to a stop. His adrenaline from the anger had ebbed, and he was breathing hard. He threw his hat, mussing up his hair. "Damn mutt!"

The dog sensed there was trouble since the farmer had stopped following him, so he circled back and playfully swept nearby. He got too close though, and Tony made an attempt to grab at him, and he skittered fearfully out of the way. He stopped across the field, watching Tony from the distance, wondering what was wrong now that the game was over.

He meandered back, tail wagging slowly. Doubtfully. He tested the distance from Tony and didn't see the man make another move to go after him. He wagged his tail harder, but it abruptly tucked close to his legs as Tony yelled again. "Don't gimme that - you know what ya did! Bad dog!"

Tony snatched up his hat and glared harshly at him, smacking the cap against his leg to rid it of the dirt. The dog winced, still trying to sidle up closer to him, submissively ducking his head low. Tony kept glaring, leveling the cap back atop his head. He turned away without acknowledging his dog's canine apology and went to find his chickens who had long since scattered. So much for the bar.

It was pitch black as Tony lit the lantern and shook the match out, thinking he really needed that beer about now. He looked over his shoulder and found him there again. "Would ya scram?! Get back to the house! Go on!"

He'd never find the last of his hens with the dog trailing after him. Dog couldn't help it though – he was guilty and still wanting to make amends. It didn't understand. Tony wasn't mad anymore. He felt more like an idiot for leaving the dog loose with the chickens about in the first place. He knew he liked to chase them. He should've prepared for that. He wasn't thinking about that though. He was thinking about his grocery list and what he'd say to Ronald when he no doubt asked him how he liked the autumn weather.

So here he was ducking under trees, winding his way through the brush, looking for the last hen who had taken off in fright. Most of them had been hiding in the tall pasture grass, but rounding up scared chickens was no easy feat. Everything was a threat to them, and there was no amount of coaxing he could do to make them listen. Tony could only chase them himself, herding them back to the coop until they took refuge in the familiar open door. It'd take days for them to calm down. He'd be lucky if they'd lay before the weekend. Stressed chickens were unproductive chickens, and that would put a dent in his tight budget. One screw up had a domino effect on a little farm like his.

The creaking crack of the sticks and crunching leaves behind him told Tony the dog was still following him. He would try tying him up, but he hated ropes, and Tony didn't want to put him under stress. Even if he deserved it.

A flash of unnaturally colored orange that was one of his Rhode Island Reds huddled under a scraggly bush alerted Tony, and he let out a sigh of relief. He thought he was going to have to give up on her, thinking a coyote or fox could've gotten to her first. But she was quiet, the kind of paralyzed fear where she was condensed as tight as could be and perfectly still. She was nestled deep in the leaves, and he was lucky to have seen her against the ruddy browns and reds around her.

Tony carefully set his lantern down, and he shot the dog a warning glare. He crept stealthily forward. Her eyes were locked on him, but she still didn't move. Tony didn't want to spook her by prolonging his capture, so he made a dash forward. She stood in alarm, but he already had his hands around her, pinning her wings to her sides. He shushed her, lifting her into his arms and hugging her close as her heart pounded like a drum. Avoiding her nasty sharp talons, Tony bunched her up and held her for a while until she knew she wasn't in any danger anymore.

Finally, he brought her back towards the lantern glowing yellow, illuminating his dog in the shadows just beyond its halo of light. He tucked the hen under one arm, but Tony paused before he picked up the lantern. The dog had gotten closer as he approached. With a huff of defeat, Tony reached out and ruffled his ears. "Apology accepted… mutt."

Tony hissed as he picked up the handle and found it had grown hot against the glass. He shook his hand from the heat and grabbed it anyways, wrapping his palm firmly around the metal and lifting it up. The light swayed all around them, casting uneven lines of shadow haphazardly about as they made their way back.

"We're gonna put your chasin' to good use," Tony eased the uncomfortable silence of the dark forest around them, filling up the eerie night with his voice instead of the shuffling of the leaves. "No more chickens for you. You're gonna herd my cows for me, ya hear? Get that energy out your system… put ya to work."

This was alright by the dog, who happily trotted along at his side. He was just content to be forgiven. And Tony knew, no matter what he did next, he'd never be able to stay mad at this dog for very long. Loners like them had to stick together.


	5. The Protector

Double update today! Thanks for reading!

* * *

 **The Protector**

* * *

Tony whistled loud and long, his fingers in the corners of his mouth to make the notes carry. Pappy's flute worked best to keep the tone even, but Tony didn't like having a cumbersome instrument shoved in his pocket at all times. He had learned to mimic the notes on his own, and more importantly, his dog still recognized the signal. He'd hear the three long tones and know it was time to run circles around the pasture, rounding up the cattle for bedtime. He was good. Damn good. Tony realized the dog just needed something to do, and he wasn't half as troublesome as he used to be – even if he still put the fear of God into his chickens in passing. Not enough time for mischief. He also had commands for sit, stay, and up. But he was awful at stay. He couldn't stick nowhere Tony wasn't for long.

It wasn't a second before he appeared, running through the bent hoops of yellow and brown twine that was the field. His mud colored coat blended in perfectly like camouflage with the dour colors of the land this time of year, and Tony couldn't see him until he was close. He passed the fence and bounded to a stop at the farmer's feet. Tony gave him a congratulatory ear rub and patted his side as the dog leaned against him, soaking up the praise. "Alright, alright. Good work."

Tony pulled the barn door closed on all of the mooing, the herd tucked away inside for the night, the farmer's breath puffing out in clouds as he walked. The door shuddered shut with a bang as it hit the end of the rusty track, and Tony locked up by running the old wood beam through the rungs lined up to cradle it against the building. He gave it a tug to finalize the job well done.

He sharply turned when he heard an echo. He looked out over his dead silent property in the hazy twilight. Untouched snow rested along the fence posts. Tracks from squirrels, mink, coons, and opossum were crisscrossing by the tree line. Tony craned his neck up and found a cloudless night sky on the rise, stars twinkling amidst the purple and navy of a midwinter horizon. The fog of his own breath blocked some of his view and he dropped his gaze. His dog caught his eye and wagged his tail.

"Don't complain, but we're havin' eggs again," Tony warned, knowing the dog was always happy with whatever was put before him. Tony wished he could be less picky, too. He was starting to feel sick whenever he smelled omelets. But he was bushed, and he didn't feel like standing in front of the stove for long with a rumbling stomach. Eggs would have to do.

The echo returned, and Tony knew he hadn't imagined it. This time, it was a distinctive howl. The dog perked his ears and froze at the sound, pose erect and watchful, waiting for another sound or movement. Tony listened, too. It wasn't the typical cackle of coyotes he'd become accustomed to hearing in the night, but it wasn't the clear song of wolves either. It was throaty. More like a bay.

Tony nudged the dog along, and it reluctantly walked with him. "Come on. Let's get."

Hands shoved in his pockets, he couldn't help but walk faster than usual even if he knew there was nothing to worry about. Wild dogs wouldn't ambush him – he was a grown man, and this wasn't a cheesy horror movie. That just didn't happen. All of his animals were safely locked away, too. Nothing to fear. _Nothing to fear_. But his gut still twisted uncomfortably in a pang he knew wasn't hunger. He didn't want his dog outside.

Tony reached the house first, and he brought back the screen, propping it open as he pushed the interior door wide with a kick. He turned back and saw the dog statue-like yet again, this time poised by the chicken coop. He was staring at the woods with a deep focus Tony couldn't break with any manner of whistling.

"Come on!" Tony hollered, clapping his hands. He was at a loss. He was set on staring at the woods behind the barn. "Hurry up, I ain't gonna—!"

Tony's voice hitched in his throat, and the screen door slammed shut behind him. It happened so fast, seemingly without warning. His dog lowered his head ever so slightly, dipping close to his shoulders. Then he was barking, feet propped ahead of him as an anchor as he shouted at the shadows. The hair on his back raised up all along his spine, and he snarled. It was a sound Tony hadn't ever heard from him. It was mean and threatening, and the dog he knew was anything but. He was a gentle goof. But he clearly had some fight in him.

He took off growling, and Tony ran after him without much thought for his own safety. The dog had already collided with something by the time he rounded the barn and peered frantically through the trees, anxious to see where he went. There was a scuffle and quiet, and then the snarling was back in full effect, this time in stereo.

His eyes adjusted, and under the starlight, Tony couldn't tell who was who at first. There were three shadows that weren't his friend. Just as he had suspected, it was a pack of wild dogs. Scruffy, angry, and aggressive. The ears on the one lopped to the side as it spun out from the grip of the other dog, spit foaming along his jowls. He barked again, and Tony knew it was his dog.

Tony didn't know what to do in this kind of situation. He wasn't prepared to fight dogs. How does that work anyways? His eyes scanned the immediate area for anything to use as a weapon, but nothing caught his attention, no sizeable sticks, no farm tools. He only had himself, and he wasn't exactly practiced in fighting off wild animals. But he knew he'd have to if his dog was going to come out of this alive. It was three against one, and his poor dog only had the farmer to back him up.

His dog scrapped with the first one, each one competing to get ahold of the other's neck. To Tony's horror, his dog got overpowered and was quickly pinned. He yipped in pain and fear. "No!"

Tony ran forward despite the other dogs barking deafeningly at him. He sent a swift kick towards the rib cage of the dog on top of his. It released him at the surprise of the blow, and Tony's dog squirmed away. But he was in the fray now, and his leg was the next target. He didn't have the time or skill in balance to get out of the way before teeth sunk into his calf. Scared now himself as the other two leapt his way, Tony hit the dog that had him in a death grip overtop the head, making him squint his eyes. He smothered his nose, and he snorted, forced to let go. Tony's hand narrowly escaped before a hard snap of teeth got his fingers.

These dogs were itching for a fight, and Tony was sure they would've had a hay day with his livestock. They had nothing to lose, it was freezing winter weather, and they were bitter tempered. Their gangly limbs were malnourished, and the foam at their mouths was tinted a yellowish phlegm color. The bite had put Tony on the ground, and he back-peddled on the palms of his hands as the dog closed in on him again.

There was a yelp, and he turned his head. A figure flew by, and the dog in front of him went careening off to the side. He realized the cry was from one of the strays limping away in retreat, and his own dog had come to his rescue. The second dog joined the thick of it, and it was two of them against his boy. Tony held his breath.

These strays could've been his dog. Same loneliness, hunger, desperation. But they didn't have a Tony. Nobody offered them ham sandwiches, warm beds, or much needed baths. They had lost the desire for those things, replaced only with the need to survive. But this wasn't their turf. They'd intruded on Tony's home. And he had a dog now to defend it.

Tony heard a sickening crunch which was quickly followed by a series of yowls. He scrambled to his feet as one of the pack fled right past him after the other into the safety of the woods. Shivers ran up his spine in a mixture of the cold, his own pain, and fear as he watched the confusing wrestling match in front of him. He suddenly found himself shouting like an idiot. "Get 'im! Get 'im, Dog! You get 'im!"

They tussled another minute, snarling and snapping at one another. They broke apart for a second, and Tony whistled. The stray turned his head, and that's all it took. Tony's dog lunged. The stray whined and pawed at his face where he was bit, rubbing his face in the snow when it didn't ease the pain. Tony stomped at him, shooing him away. Left alone, it had no choice but to run.

Tony watched until it disappeared. The world went quiet, back at peace on a winter night once again. He hadn't noticed he had lost his hat, walking over to it and swiping it up. He shook the snow out of it and rolled it up, jamming it in his pocket. He only made it a few steps away from the barn before he felt the cold air against the wound on his leg. He angled it to catch some light and only saw blood seeping through his jeans. He groaned and flopped to the ground.

His dog plodded after him, stopping a short distance away and looking pretty roughed up himself. Tony nodded to him. "Ya never listen, do ya?" He rethought the accusation, remembering how the whistle at the end only distracted the attacking dog and not his own. He shrugged. "Guess it pays off every now and again…"

Tony turned and smiled when his dog was giving him his usual, goofy grin. They were sore, they were cold, they were hungry, and their asses were thoroughly kicked. What a sad sight. "Well… if we've got rabies, at least we're both done for together, eh?"

The joke fell flat. Dogs couldn't laugh. Tony chuckled at his own foolishness and took a handful of snow and pressed it against his leg. He let out a vaporous sigh at the cool relief.

The dog moseyed on over and plopped on his butt beside him. Like he did so many months ago when they met. His tail thumped back and forth in a tired but happy arc, asking him for a pet on his good job.

"Good dog…" Tony said. He stroked his soft head, and the tail beat faster. Tears suddenly burned his eyes. He had been really worried there. But his dog was made of tougher stuff than he was. There was blood on him, too. They'd need to get cleaned up. He swallowed the lump in his throat and patted the dog's head with finality. "Ya did good, Dog. Let's get ya home. Agh…" as he stood and brushed the snow off, "You'll see. Them cowards won't bother us no more."

Tony was right. They didn't.


	6. You Walked Beside Me

Hey, thanks for the reviews, DesertRoseSparty and Ur2Cool! Your support means the world. To show my thanks, I'm back again with another chapter or two. Seriously, thank you! And as always, thanks for reading.

Side Note: I believe they call it Brownie Farm in the game, but as there's nothing but animals, it's really more of a ranch. So that's just what I call it.

* * *

 **You Walked Beside Me**

* * *

His palms felt sweaty. His grip on the flute was too tight, but he needed it since the dog listened better to the instrument than his own whistle. Also, he wanted something to fiddle with as he walked. Tony was feeling a little nervous. He hadn't gone this far since he first stocked the farm.

Up the hill from Ronald's grocery past the tool shop and the florist tucked away in the mountain was Brownie Ranch. It was a sizeable homestead Tony respected as it was run single-handedly by one man who also had a little brother to take care of. Tony had picked up the torch from his grandfather to run the farm; he couldn't imagine having to pick up his family along with twice the acreage. But that was Bob, and he was thunder. Tony had no doubt there was nothing Bob couldn't handle. And he was a little jealous.

Last Tony had seen of these parts was when he'd needed preventative medicine before the big storm that rolled through his first spring. He was a little ashamed as he realized that was a few years ago, but he had been stubborn. He had seen the might of Bob's ranch and wanted to establish his own land, feeling like he needed to break even because he was intimidated. Like life was a competition. He felt downright foolish that he had turned tail and hid. Maybe if he'd swallowed his pride and accepted he was a rookie, he might've had some friends by now.

He looked down at his side and found his dog trotting happily alongside him, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Tony had considered leaving him behind to watch the livestock while he was gone, but a part of him didn't want to leave him alone. They'd been living like they were practicing for a three-legged race for so long that Tony felt a little off if the dog wasn't by his side. He wanted him to get out and about, too, and Tony didn't think he'd have the courage to leave the farm without him.

A door creaked open, and Tony paused mid-step. Lyla had left her flower shop and retrieved her watering can, bringing it to the well by her modest garden. She brought up the bucket, her thick locks of hair tumbling over her shoulder as she hoisted the water. The dog watched her as well, interested in this person he'd never met but still skeptical of her.

Water spilled out over the edge of the rim as she gripped the rope tight in her fist and steadied the spinning bucket. Lyla caught sight of the pair watching her on the road, and she suddenly smiled and offered them a little wave in greeting.

Tony nodded to her and quickly moved along. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, magazine or otherwise. The kind Tony felt bashful about just looking in the eye. He high-tailed it – his dog lingering behind at first but soon catching up with his quick pace. So much for that courage.

He let out the breath he'd been holding as the path took a steep incline and the high fence posts like an old Civil War camp appeared along the mountainside. They passed under the open arch and were upon the Brownie Ranch territory that ate up the next two miles. The Farmer's Shop was looking just like it had when he first saw it with the swinging door a little lopsided but freshly varnished. Their cabin seemed bigger than Tony remembered, but that was probably due to only really seeing his own one room home and Ronald's dinky grocery for so long. Two stories looked huge.

There was a strange quietness that told him he was the only one around. Tony whistled, and the dog quit sniffing their porch. He bounded over as Tony waved his arm, and they took the hill heading down towards the barn.

From the high vantage point, the race track looked even more impressive, the dirt loops making a wide, even circle in the landscape. Within its confines of a second fence, half a dozen horses grazed in the morning light. One cow aggressively mooed, and that's when Tony caught sight of Bob trying to push the old heifer out to the pasture. She stubbornly rooted herself in the barn's doorway, feeling particularly lazy this morning. Tony clenched the flute and beckoned his dog. "Let's see if we can give him a hand, eh, boy?"

The dog seemed to understand him and ran ahead down the road. Tony took up a jog to keep up, and they were soon down the zigzagging path into the plateau. Bob saw them coming and stopped what he was doing to watch them approach. The cow swished her tail and hit Bob in the arm with it, but he didn't pay her no mind.

"Hey!" Bob cupped his hands to his mouth in a shout, something he really didn't need to do with how his deep baritone already carried. Tony came to a stop on the other side of the fence, a little out of breath from the run. "Could ya do me a favor and get some feed from the trough over there? The old girl's feelin' like makin' a scene this mornin'."

Tony eyed the bale of fodder and pointed to his dog instead. "I've got another idea if ya don't mind. May I?"

Bob squinted at the flute the farmer had like he'd sooner use it to pick his teeth. He usually wasn't a fan of wasting time, but seeing Tony at all was odd to him, so he thought he might as well humor the boy. He stepped back and offered for him to give it a go.

Tony felt rushed being put on the spot, but he played the melody he always used to get his dog to round up his own cattle. The dog seemed confused at first since this area was completely foreign to him, and he didn't even know how to get to the cow he was supposed to be wrangling. Once he figured out he could squeeze under the fence though, he took off at a run and sharply barked from behind her. The dairy cow took an uneasy step forward, and the dog pushed her along by closing the distance to her ankles. He gave another barking order, and the cow hurried through to the pasture with an urgency to her gait until she hit the grass.

Once she was in the foot-high reeds, Tony's dog backed off and headed towards Bob for his congratulations. He wound around him and waited with his head held high. Bob ruffled his ears, and the dog's tail wagged in appreciation. Tony pocketed his flute in his belt loop. "Thanks. Neat trick ya got."

Receiving a thank you from Bob felt like a big deal. Tony tried to control his proud grin from getting too big. "No problem. Glad we could help."

"Usually just chase these mutts off," Bob said, his hand continuing to scratch behind the dog's ears that he happily accepted. "But it looks they've got some use. You reign this one in and train him up?"

"He came to me," Tony bashfully yanked on his ponytail at his neck. He cleared his throat. "But yeah. He's a good dog."

Bob let out a sigh through his nose, and Tony took this as agreement. He stopped petting the dog who looked after him in hopes for more attention, but Bob picked up his rope and brush from where he left them and slung the neatly woven cord around his shoulder. "Sorry the shop's openin' late today. If you need somethin', you're gonna hafta wait."

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets without thinking about it. A chilly breeze blew by, and he wished he wore more than a T-shirt. "Er, no rush. I was just in the area. Thought I'd say hey."

"Oh," the blank stare was what Tony had been expecting, but it was still uncomfortable. Bob shrugged this strange occurrence off his shoulder like he did most things. "Well, uh… good seein' ya."

"Hey, is that a dog?!"

Both men turned around to see a young boy at the foot of the path. He saw Tony and had been standoffish, but when he caught sight of the dog at their feet, he wasn't so shy. His boots thumped against the hardpacked earth as he sprinted as fast as his little legs could carry him over to where they were by the barn.

For the militaristic way in which he ran his affairs, down to the buzz cut he gave himself, it surprised Tony to see Bob's little brother seemingly free of this strict system. His hair was shaggy, and his clothes were baggy, and he reeked of wild abandon. Maybe Bob never felt like he could take the role of a guardian with him and still had the loose protectiveness of a sibling.

Bob watched as the boy stuck his hand through to try to pet the dog who had stayed on Bob's side of the fence. He balanced his feet on the last wrung and leaned over top the second post to try to reach down. The dog sniffed at his fingers but made no effort to meet the boy halfway. Bob crossed his arms with authority. "Tim. Ask."

"Sorry…" the scruffy boy apologized. He looked up at Tony from underneath a silly explorer hat that was two sizes too big, probably having belonged to the boys' father. "Can I pet him, mister?"

Tony was a little nervous. His dog had always been friendly, but he wasn't sure how he'd act around strangers. The last thing he needed was for his dog to get defensive and bite a kid. He was about to say let him be, but the old stray went to sniff Tim's shoes, and his tail began to sway. He didn't want to hesitate and make Bob doubt him. "Yeah."

"C'mere, boy!" Tim waggled his fingers in coaxing. Tony's dog stretched up to give them a sniff as well and caught the scent of the boy's recent breakfast. He gave them a lick, and Tim giggled. He gently stroked the dog's nose until he could reach his forehead. "He's so soft! What's his name?"

He balked. Tony'd never been able to come up with something suitable that fit him, and he really only answered to three things. The whistle of his fingers or flute, a hot plate of food, and— "Just… dog."

The lame delivery didn't sell it, and Tim scrunched up his nose. "Dog? Just dog? Don't he got a real name?"

"Tim, mind yer manners. Dog listens better'n you anyways," Bob scolded, stalking off towards the field of horses to begin his chores.

"Heeeey!" Tim whined at the insult. He swung down to look from underneath the top of the fence between the beams and received a messy kiss being in such close proximity to the hound. Tim reeled away laughing and jumped down from the fence. The dog crawled back under to Tony's side and circled Tim. He was half of the size of the young boy, putting Tony on edge again, but he remained docile and stuck his face right up to be nose to nose with Tim. Tim squished his ears back and forth, and the dog's tail beat like mad in happiness at the new friend he'd met.

"What's all this first thing in the mornin'?" A girl called from the top of the path. Her high ponytail of corn colored hair offset her punk camo ensemble, and her hands were on her hips. Her stern expression completely changed when she saw Tim playing with the dog. "Is that a dog?"

"Yeah! Come meet Dog, Gwen! Ahaha!" Tim shouted back to her. He was smothered in licks to his chin he could barely dodge.

Gwen ran down the path with a speed Tony wasn't expecting, and she was quick to drop to her knees as she clapped her hands and opened her arms. His dog whirled around and spotted her and took off to greet her, throwing his arms over her shoulders and giving her face a bath as well. Tony had thought Gwen was pretty frigid and aloof, so hearing her high-pitched squeals of delight as she played with the animal was downright bizarre. Even Bob looked over from the pasture to see what the fuss was all about.

Tim and Tony meandered over to meet up with her, and she was all warmth and smiles when she looked up at Tony as she held the dog back from plowing her over. "Tony, I didn't know you had a dog!"

"Er… we don't get out much," the farmer admitted sheepishly in his straight-faced, tight-lipped way.

Gwen laughed, reminded of her roommate Kurt. She held out her hand, and Tony took it to help her up. She brushed off the dust from her butt and batted away the dog before he could jump up on her again. "You oughta fix that then. Sorry I got him all riled up – I couldn't help it. He's a real sweetheart."

"Nah, I never seen him like this before," Tony said, shaking his head. He snapped his fingers and directed Dog to sit which he finally listened to after the third attempt. "It's a good different though. Good for him. Glad we got out."

"We gotta make sure Dog meets everybody! Let's go, let's go!" Tim ran ahead and patted his thighs to get the dog to follow him.

Tony felt a little overwhelmed as Gwen grabbed his forearm and dragged the farmer away as well. "Yeah, everybody'll be so excited! We ain't seen ya in forever, hermit boy. Grandpa will wanna treat ya to a drink down at Wally's; I'll walk ya there."

"You just wanna spend more time with Dog," Tim stuck his tongue out at her. "Careful, Tony, Gwen'll try to steal him from ya!"

She blushed in embarrassment and didn't deny it, but her grip on Tony tightened as she fell into step beside him. Her eyes landed on him, and she didn't seem to notice how tense he was at the close contact he was so unfamiliar with after living alone for so long. She was up for a quick subject change. "How's the farm? How're your animals? We all thought about checkin' in on ya, but Ronald said you were doin' alright, and nobody wanted to intrude…"

Tony shook his head, grabbing at his cap and pushing it too high over his forehead and mussing his hair. "No, good, s'all good… I didn't… I didn't know," _anybody cared…_

They passed back by the Farmer's Shop the way Tony had come. Birds chirped between the trees down the path in a noisy racket, and flowers were budding along the greenest patches of grass beside the road. Tim had picked up a stick, and he was waving it around to goad the dog into following him. When he could catch it in his teeth, Tim would tug it away, and the teasing game continued as they all walked.

"Well, hey, I'm glad ya got out, too," Gwen slapped Tony hard on the back, nearly making him reflexively cough. She forced him to stop walking with a yank like she was leading a horse – force of habit – and she waved her arm up high over her head. "Morning, Lyla! Come over here a minute!"

Gwen's call also reached the botanist Parsley who was in the area. Both villagers came over to say hello and meet the newest, four-legged addition to their Sugar Village family. Gwen took care of the introductions, and Tony was grateful since he was beginning to feel swarmed.

"Meet Tony's new dog, fellas! Well, he ain't new, but he's new to us," she explained as the dog introduced himself in turn, walking up to the open hands awaiting him and receiving free scratches. He was in social heaven.

"Hey, Tony, it's been awhile," Parsley greeted with a tip of his hat. Tony kind of just looked at him, unsure of what to say, but the botanist tactfully turned his attention to his dog instead. He squatted down to get on his level. "And who do we have here? What a strapping fellow!"

Tony had his eyes on Lyla who was currently preoccupied with letting the dog smell her hand. She received a kiss, and she cooed. "Ooh, what a dear. Hello, there, doggy! What a good boy!"

Parsley was a bit more awkward and unfamiliar with dogs and patted the animal's back, but he smiled brightly at the people around him. "You know, I was just thinking of heading towards the café for an early lunch. Why don't we all go today and have a little get together? It's not every day we meet someone new."

"That sounds lovely," Lyla agreed, smoothing out her apron and patting away the dog hair now stuck there. She looked pleadingly to the farmer. "Won't you please come, Tony? I've missed seeing you."

"Yeah, we can all catch up! Come on, city boy," Gwen egged with a confidant smirk and friendly nudge to his side to prompt his answer. "Hang with the hicks for awhile."

Tony was struggling to find the words, and he finally managed a quiet: "I could eat. And he always can," he gestured to his dog who finally seemed to remember him and gravitated to his side. That got a laugh out of the group, and it made Tony feel a little lighter on his feet.

The door to the tool shop slammed, and all heads turned to see the gangly Louis in his oversized lab coat with a hand hidden in his pocket. He saw everyone looking at him, but before he could answer, he saw the farmer and the scraggly, smiling mutt at his feet. "Oh wow, hey, Tony! I didn't know you had a dog."

"Y-Yeah…" Tony said, his voice giving out as he desperately tried to compose himself. Luckily, attention was back on his dog as Tim threw the stick, and he ran to retrieve it and meet Louis on his return back with it.

"Isn't he the cutest thing?" Gwen praised.

Parsley laughed and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, back off now; he's Tony's dog."

"Why do y'all keep sayin' that?!" she snapped, which only got more admonishment and knowing chuckles.

"We're all getting lunch together; make some time and join us, won't ya, Louis?" Parsley asked. It didn't take long for the inventor to mull it over and agree, and their group got even bigger.

Surrounded by all of the attention and questions and care and concern, Tony had lost his emotional compass. His eyes were filling, and he couldn't stop them, so he just kept looking away and at the sun overhead. He'd been alone for so long. He had forgotten what it was like to… just _talk_ to people. And he was being included, and these villagers were worried about him and had welcomed him back without a grudge.

The death of his grandpappy had hit him hard. Tony threw himself into rebuilding his land and upholding his standards to make the old homestead all that it could be in his honor. He wanted to make him proud. He just never felt like he could fill those footsteps, and he slipped and fell behind. He isolated himself, always saying he'd take a break once he was at the level he needed to be. But he kept raising the bar. The months went by. Soon, Tony was totally alone, and he was trapped in that rut he put himself in.

His dog seemed to grin up at him as they walked, his shiny white teeth glistening from underneath his jowls in a silly, canine smile. Tony knew he owed it to him. He wouldn't have been able to come back to any of these people around him if it hadn't been for the stray. He drew him out like poison from a wound, and Tony began to heal. When he rescued the matted hound from the woods, Tony hadn't realized at the time that he needed him, too.

"Atta boy," Tony said, his stride becoming more confidant. The dog leaned into the palm of his hand for the ear rub. His paws matched his steps beat for beat. "Atta boy…"


	7. I Love Our Adventures

This is the second update today! Since I'm nearing the end, I only expect to get these updates out faster. Hopefully, we can wrap this up within the week.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

 **I Love Our Adventures**

* * *

There was a low, pathetic whine from under the table. Tony stopped chewing and listened. It came again in the quiet of his room.

Dropping his spoon, he bent down and looked under the table. There was his dog with his big, watery eyes begging for a taste. His chin was propped up on a pillow, and it was a wonder he had managed to wriggle his way underneath the low set table at all with his big ol' head. His tail swished in hope when they made eye contact. Tony screwed up his lips in annoyance. "Look, it's oatmeal – ya wouldn't even like it."

He whined again, this time much more dramatically. The sigh of a heavily abused animal. Tony grumbled in defeat and muttered under his breath as he dropped his spoon again with a clang. He picked out an apple from the bowl at the center of the table and whipped out his pocket knife. He cut a slice from it and fed himself first as if to prove a point, his dog's eyes still glued to his every minute movement. With a roll of his eyes, Tony slipped a slice under the table and dropped it. It barely touched the floor before it was greedily smacked up and crunched to bits.

"Ya spoiled mutt," Tony chastised, knowing full well it was his own fault his dog had become so coddled. The tail wagged again from out the other end of the table.

A quick succession of knocks on the wall outside made them both jump, the dog hitting his head with a clunk on the table. Tony got out of the way as he scrambled out and barked at the door. Tony took a few more bites of oatmeal and swallowed fast as he got to his feet, too. He pushed his dog out of the way, feeling the bump on his fuzzy head in passing. "Serves ya right, ya idgit."

The screen was the only door in the way, and warm summer air filtered into the room. Tony pushed it aside with a squeak of the hinge, and the dog leapt out to greet the visitor.

"Yay! Hi, Dog, how are ya today? Are ya good? Are ya good?" Tim danced from side to side, dodging the dog's advances and finally pouncing upon him. He received a myriad of kisses, and he laughed and rolled around in the dirt, being trampled by paws. "Aaaahh, get offa me, ya big lug!"

Tony whistled, and his dog obediently backed off to let Tim get back to his feet. "Howdy, Tim."

"Howdy!" Tim slightly bowed and pushed the explorer's hat from his eyes. He'd filled out a little and was now a good deal taller than the dog he loved so much and always visited. Since they'd met, they'd rarely gone more than a few days without a greeting such as today's. "Are ya ready to go adventuring?"

If he was being completely honest, Tony had forgotten. He wasn't sure how; probably because he was preoccupied with his crop fields this time of year. But it was hard to forget one of Tim's hairbrained schemes. Since he was strong enough, he was able to do some serious damage to the environment with his trusty shovel. He was always rooting around for imaginary treasures, and he would often wrestle Tony into coming along if he wasn't busy at the moment he caught him. And now Tim had gotten into his head that Tony's dog could sniff out the treasure for them, and he was convinced they'd all go treasure hunting at his lead. Which meant that was now.

Tony thought about making up an excuse, so he could get more work in today, but since he left his farm way back when, the villagers hadn't left him alone. It wasn't unwelcome; his days just got busier. He was still ever grateful, and Tony wanted to lend a hand or offer extra vegetables he grew as gifts whenever he could. He was greeted with hospitality and friendly conversation wherever he went. Ronald liked to tease that he was famous. And truth be told, humoring Tim wasn't much like babysitting anymore since he grew up some, and Tony would be lying if he said it wasn't fun.

He looked to his dog who was growing grey around his muzzle, but he was still full of all of the spit and vinegar of a pup. Tony gave him a quizzical quirk of his brow, and the dog's tail wagged in response. "Whatcha think, ol' boy? Ya got the snout of a treasure finder on ya?"

"Cool, you're in! I knew ya wouldn't let me down," Tim toothily grinned, one of his front teeth missing. The screen door slammed shut behind Tony who had to pick the pace to follow the youngster hitting the road.

Tony eyed the gap in surprise as he fanned his tank top to keep it from sticking to his skin as they walked away from his farm. "Hey, it finally fell out? When'd that happen?"

Tim stuck his tongue through the gap, winding his hands proudly behind his neck. "Last night! I said ta heck with it and yanked it right out with one of Bob's pliers! But he said the Tooth Fairy don't like that none, and I wouldn't get a coin for it. I don't care though. I don't believe in none of that faerie stuff anyways."

He shouldn't have been too surprised to hear that he had forced it. The kid was impatient in all aspects of life. Hence why they were out on an adventure first thing after breakfast. "I dunno, Bob knows quite a bit. You oughta listen to him."

"Yeah, yeah," Tim groaned.

Tony smile at the memory of his granddaddy scaring him stiff when he was a young 'un prone to not listening and always wandering. "My pappy used to tell me about the sprites in the woods that would snatch up kids who didn't listen. They'd take 'em to their cave deep down in the ground."

"And then what?" Tim asked, sounding not nearly as scared as the fable was supposed to incite. Instead, he sounded way too fascinated. Tony half-wondered if their next adventure would be to capture one of the fairytale creatures. Wouldn't surprise him.

"'Course they eat 'em. That's what happens when children get kidnapped in the woods. Everything wants to eat 'em. You ain't scared of that?" Tony pried, sensing the boy was starting to get spooked.

"Eh, that ain't scary," Tim rubbed his nose a little hard, focusing on watching the dog trot up the path ahead of them. He smiled wide. "Because we got Dog with us! Nothing can take on him and win. He'd show 'em what for."

Tony looked ahead at the lumbering back of his friend. His shoulders were a little thinner with the seasons weighing on him, but he had grown strong and muscular on the farm much like his owner. They had weathered chicken chases, cattle herding, and wild dogs. They were a tough team to beat. Tony smiled. "Ya got that right."

They passed by the old carpenter's hut, finding only Woody out and about. The boys waved to him, and he nodded to them each individually, including the dog. He probably knew they were up to mischief, but he had a mischievous streak himself and didn't say a word. Tony felt a little awkward as they entered the woods just off his property, and Tim ran on ahead.

Tim leapt upon a shovel jutting out from the ground. He swung on the handle. "Ta-da! Here's where we start!"

"Ya shouldn't leave your tools out overnight," Tony said, crossing his arms as he stopped beside his dog who took a loyal seat.

"Pfft, ya sound like Bob," Tim snorted in good humor, and Tony unfurled his arms to let them hang at his sides in embarrassment. He didn't mean to be a wet blanket – no offense to Bob. Tim unstuck his shovel. "'Sides, I had to mark the spot! Don't ya feel it? There's treasure 'round here."

Tony tried, but he wasn't getting any tingles. Just seemed like a patch of woods and ivy to him.

Tim bent down before the dog and gave him a scratch on the head. He stood back expectantly. "Okay, it's up to you now, Dog! Lead the way!"

The dog stood, but he didn't understand the direction. He scratched his own ear with his back foot and sniffed at the grass and waited for something to happen. The boys watched the dog in turn, waiting for the same thing.

"It's not workin'," Tim said flatly.

"Well, he ain't never found treasure before – have you?" Tony defended. He snapped his fingers and pointed off into the woods to give him a start. "Go on, boy. Look around some. Go on."

He planted his nose to the ground and began to follow different scents, picking up all manner of critters and fauna. He paused to sneeze and clear his nostrils and continued along on an invisible path, snorting and snuffling along the dirt.

"Hey, I think he's got a whiff of it!" Tim shouted, hitting Tony in the arm in congratulations. They trailed after the dog at a careful distance so as not to distract him from his duty, and they worked their way deeper into the wood.

They passed over a creek, and Tony let himself feel a little impressed. Even though he thought his dog caught the scent of a deer path by some tracks and droppings they passed, it gave Tim some excitement thinking they were on the trail of treasure. His grin was ear to ear, and he kept pointing ahead with his shovel and talking about how he was going to spend the doubloons. Tony let some of the anticipation rub off on him and got a little caught up in it, too.

The sun blipped between the sparkling green leaves overhead, and the cicadas hushed as they passed their trees. They found a grassy area full of pink cats Tony remembered some of the local girls in the valley favored, but he wasn't about to go flower picking. Swarms of gnats gathered in the spots of open sun around them, and the chitter of a squirrel upset that they were close to its nest sounded from somewhere up above. It was a place Tony thought the sprites from his Pappy's tales might've lived.

"This has gotta be it!" Tim cheered. He narrowly dodged a spider web between the branches of brambles and ducked low after the dog.

"Let him do his thing," Tony said, cautioning for Tim to stay back.

They watched in silence as the dog circled about a few times, gravitating towards a specific area. Tim mumbled that it must be treasure, and Tony's dog breathed hard on one spot. Then he lifted his leg and pissed on a rock.

Tim tossed his shovel. "Aw, son of a gun – he was just lookin' for a place to take a whizz!"

Tony's lips quivered, and unable to hold it in, he let the laugh burst out. He thought of Tim's expectant face and his own idiot fixation on their quest, leading them to this point, and he laughed harder. His dog was just a dog after all. He doubled over, finding it funnier and funnier as the forest around him seemed particularly remote. They were out in the middle of nowhere on a fool's errand.

The boy wasn't sure what to do, and he was a little mystified. Tim had known the farmer to be a kind of old-fashioned polite and a little quiet and even a little guarded. It hadn't occurred to him until this very moment that he'd never heard Tony laugh. And definitely not so hard. The sound was contagious, and Tim began to laugh himself, joining in on the hysterics.

The squirrel above them hollered louder at them for disturbing the peace, but he went unheeded as the boys tearfully laughed at their failure. Confused but delighted at their good mood, Tony's dog circled around them and playfully barked. He didn't know what happened that was so funny, but he wanted to be included. He had no idea that he was the one who brought their happiness.

Tony realized it was the little things. The unexpected. He'd remember them the most. Like the stories his granddaddy told or the sound of his flute. For years to come, he'd fondly remember their adventure down a deer trail leading to a pee break. The silly, the pointless, the wonderful memories. They were the best.


	8. Through Thick and Thin

Thank you for your reviews, Guest(s) and Ur2Cool! This project took much longer than I thought it would, but it looks like I'll really be able to finish it within the next few days. Just a couple more chapters to go! Your support even after all of this time for such a somber story means a lot. Thank you for reading!

* * *

 **Through Thick and Thin**

* * *

Tony didn't get scared too often. Only when he lost control. Circumstances took the outcome out of his hands, and he had to rely on someone else or a greater power or plain ol' luck. Tony was scared when he felt really, truly helpless.

"C'mon… ya gotta try," Tony coaxed, tempting the mouth of the bottle to the calf's pasty wet muzzle. She stubbornly refused to take it past her lips, keeping her teeth firmly clenched. He knew it was from pain. He pleaded with her. "I can't help ya if ya don't try…"

The little black and white painted calf had been weak after she was born – unusually so. When the newborns began to walk, they'd catch on quick, and the old dog would already be at their heels ready to herd them into the field. They'd never stray too far from their mothers though, and there wasn't a whole lot of maintenance on Tony's end after the initial birth. He had three young ones on the farm this spring as his barn began filling up, and he liked to watch them play in the grass on the long summer days. All except one.

She didn't seem too keen on anything. At first, Tony thought she had a bum leg or some deformity that kept her rooted to her mama's stall. But she didn't take milk like the others – like she couldn't bring herself to get up and get it. She just sat, unnaturally on her rump with her legs splayed, or she'd lay down and nip at the straw on the floor. Her mother didn't do much to help and barely even noticed her. Like she gave up on her when she was born, knowing her young was sick.

Tony moved her to her own stall, able to lift her up and plop her where he pleased. She was so frail and didn't make a fuss. She took milk from a bottle he put a stopper on for her to ween off of, and he felt a little better. But her eagerness for nourishment faded as she grew bored and gave the farmer the cold shoulder. As his dog lingered outside the stall, sniffing the dirt floor, Tony was reminded of when he met the stray and how he had been docile with defeat. Ready to die.

It was probably some illness Tony couldn't even pronounce. Whatever it was, it got him worried enough to have Bob and Gwen come over and have a look at her when he couldn't get her to stand or even sit up. Gwen had tears in her eyes as Bob just shook his head and said nothing for it. If the calf could last the night, she'd be on the mend, but it was unlikely. Gwen offered to stay with him, but Tony insisted he could do it. It was his girl. He'd look after her. He'd see her through the night.

But Tony was losing his grip. He had tried everything. Everything he could think of, at least. His mind was going a mile a minute, and he couldn't calm down long enough anymore to be of any use. He couldn't think of anything because all he could think about was how he was short on ideas, and it was looking grim for the calf. He was clear out of gumption and nil on confidence. He wanted to give up and let it run its course as Bob advised, but Tony just couldn't find it in his heart to not panic. He'd rather get worked up and freak himself out than stand idly by and always wonder if there was more he could've done. He had to at least _feel_ like he was doing something useful.

He saw her legs jittering, and he took it for a shiver. Even though the hot air was thick and stale in the musty barn, Tony brought back the quilt he used to help him birth the calves when they came into the world. He wrapped her up in it again, never thinking he'd use this blanket on her twice. He knelt down and tucked her in like a father for his child, and he kissed her knobby forehead. He fell beside her and propped himself against the wood wall, stretching out his legs in front of him. He snuggled up as close as could be and stroked her back in an effort to soothe her.

There was a cricket off in the corner that chirped a loud, rhythmic scree. Tony's eyes focused on the old, cobweb filtered rafters overhead. The straw poking his back itched something fierce, but he didn't do anything about it. He heard his dog's nose snort near his boot.

He wanted to rack his brain, but he was still coming up blank and couldn't begin to bother. His body felt heavy with sleep. It must've been well past midnight. His senses began to numb as he dozed sitting up. His mind began to wander to what his pappy would've done. How many sick animals he had nursed. The bags under Tony's eyes weighed, and he sleepily slow blinked. He caught his head nodding, and he shook it. _Maybe his granddaddy didn't have sick animals because he was a better farmer._

The silence got to him after awhile, and Tony grabbed the bottle of milk again. He managed to get some medicine in her earlier, but she didn't trust the bottle anymore even though it was plain milk now. Tony just wanted her to eat something.

She didn't bother to turn her head away from him, but she didn't move to take the milk either. And though Tony could've forced the bottle in past her lips, he couldn't bring himself to cause her further suffering. Food was just annoying her at this point. The best thing he could do was wait with her and let her know she wasn't alone. If these were her final hours…

The straw shifted, and Tony watched as his dog entered the stall. He had been patiently waiting for Tony from a distance, but he seemed to finally understand the farmer wasn't going anywhere. Loyal to a fault, the dog took up his post on the opposite side of the calf. He sniffed her hindleg, and she twitched in surprise, but she didn't give the impression she was scared of him. The farmer stared as his mutt curled up against the calf along her side and settled in for the night. He rested his chin between his paws on the hay, and kept his ears perked. He was listening.

"Y'old worrywart…" Tony chided in barely a mumble. His dog's right ear lifted slightly at his voice, but he remained vigilant. He was waiting up for her, too.

The calf relaxed between the two, and her head leaned over Tony's knee to use it as a pillow. He was immediately comforted by his dog's presence, too. He'd learned over the years that they were a great team. There was nothing they couldn't do if they were together. The old dog would stay up with Tony for the sick calf because he was always there for him. Through thick and thin.

Finally feeling at peace, Tony's head dipped, and he fell asleep.

Spots of recognition would pass over him. Bouts of worry. Bewilderment as to why he was sitting up as he slept. But Tony drifted in and out of consciousness and blips of dreams until sunrise. He finally released a snore and fully awoke, startled. He rubbed his eyes hard and saw sunlight overhead in the rafters, casting sharp, angular shadows across the loft. A terrible crick in his neck ran all the way down his sore back, and he struggled to set his shoulders with a hiss.

His eyes landed on the blanket at his side, and his heart dropped. The calf was still against him, but across her just as he had last seen him, the dog lay at her side. Ears still alert. When Tony hadn't been able to keep awake, his dog had kept up the watch for him. He'd stayed up all night.

Tony laid his hand on the calf's head and felt warmth. It awoke at his touch, tongue protruding as she roused herself. Her deep, dark eyes looked up at Tony leaning over her, and she appeared to almost smile. Her nose was drier, and she didn't feel so cold. His hand automatically grabbed the tipped over milk bottle and brought it to her mouth. The calf willingly took an eager guzzle.

Relief couldn't begin to describe the lightness in his heart. He'd about thought he lost her. Tony reached across her and gave his dog a sound, grateful pat. He looked over his shoulder at the farmer, and his tail happily wagged when they made eye contact. He was a true shepherd dog looking after his herd. "Ya did it, boy. She's gonna make it. We owe it to you."

There was an incredible aspect to the dog's loyalty. Something Tony couldn't explain. There was a subtle, quiet solidarity about it. As if the dog rose to a higher calling and was performing a noble duty. In a way, he really was. Without glory and not seeking praise. Like a soldier of honor and great fortitude. Despite his oftentimes goofy ways, the dog had an essence of contradictory elegance. A silent strength.

Somehow, he knew the worst was over. And his old dog had seen them through.


	9. You Taught Me So Much

Just one more chapter after this one, and I'm not gonna lie - I'm getting a little choked up. After all, I began this story in an effort to cope with my own fresh grief, and this is bringing it all back in horribly real waves. I needed to acknowledge and accept my reality, and this story became tied to that resolve. In short, I wanted to give anyone reading a fair warning. If you'd like to stop at this chapter, you may, but there is one more entry after it. It's the inevitable one that I needed to write for my own heart, but if you would like a more light-hearted ending, this is the last chapter for you.

Thank you very much for accompanying me on this journey. My heart goes out to you and yours and all of our four-legged friends everywhere. I truly believe that the dog is man's dearest friend. Thank you for your reviews, Guest and Ur2Cool, and thank you for reading!

* * *

 **You Taught Me So Much**

* * *

Tony patted his chin with the towel, looking for spots he might've missed. How, he didn't know, but he was growing a beard faster and faster these days. The years passed by, and he found that if he didn't shave every other day, his jawline would be shadowed. A part of him liked it because it made him feel grown up, but a louder part of him rejected it because that was scary. So he shaved.

There wasn't anything inherently wrong with getting older, but the passage of time was a heavy thing. Like creeping brambles he kept hacking back to clear a path, not realizing the forest was thinning out and nearing its end. Tony had become so preoccupied with the farm, and it was a quiet success, but he had lost a good chunk of his youth with his nose to the grind. He began prioritizing some down time. Also due to his old friend.

In front of the tube TV where the antenna only picked up a fuzzy signal, his dog was spread out and snoozing away in front of its flickering light. The drone of the weather channel put him at ease, but Tony thought a bit teasingly that _most_ things could put him to sleep. The rain on the roof, the sun on the hot dirt. The plod of the hoe tilling the field. Even the cluck of chickens barely roused his ol' lazy head from slumber.

It was beginning to weigh on them both. But where Tony felt like he was picking up speed, with a hitch in his heart, he saw his friend losing momentum.

Tony squatted down over him, his dog not noticing until his hand fondly tousled his ears. His tail thumped in happy greeting. "You've worked hard again today. What ya say we take it easy, eh?"

When Tony grabbed his fishing pole and headed for the door, the dog quickly got to his feet. Or at least as fast as he was able to. His nails clipped on the floor as he followed close behind him, and Tony patiently held the door open and motioned for the old dog to lead the way.

They ambled along up the hill away from the farm in the early afternoon. The cows lifted their heads and watched them go, and the chickens noisily squawked at one another in front of their coop. A breeze bowed the stalks of corn and ripening tomatoes in the field, wafting the earthy scent after them with the slight taste of sea salt on the air.

The mountain curved, and they passed by Ronald's Grocery. The man himself was by his well across the way, tending to his own flock of chickens he kept. He held up a tanned hand with a smile in passing, and Tony lifted his own leathered palm in return. His dog noted the scent of the chickens with a sniff, but he continued a little quicker up the road in anticipation of their next visit.

As they crested the hill, it was clear why. The echoing sound of the lumberjacks at work was excitement enough, but Tony's dog went to lazily greet their company. Gwen was picking berries in the glen, and when she saw the familiar face approach, she lifted her arms out to him. The dog went to her and sat, receiving free ear scratches and a shoulder rub at her cooing insistence. Woody just clicked his tongue and shook his head at the spoiling from a distance.

Tony exchanged hey's and how are ya's with Kurt and Joe as they paused their work to do the same, and he rejoined his dog still lapping up Gwen's attention. She ruffled his ears one last time and gave him a pat to send him on his way. "Get on, now, Dog. If ya don't catch up, he'll leave ya!"

"I won't," Tony promised with the beginnings of a smile, watching his dog reluctantly pull himself away from the girl and rejoin his owner. Tony gave him a congratulatory pat, and off they went.

The forest thickened on the path around them with wide boxelders and tall hickories on either side, their branches tangling overhead. As they walked along, Tony looked down at his old pal. His deep browns and tawny patches were strewn with wiry grey hairs, and his joints seemed to ache like rusty cogs as he rhythmically matched Tony step for step. The farmer consciously slowed his pace, and the dog's movements seemed to smooth out a little. He had changed with the years, too.

Bright sun blinded them as the trees parted, and the way cleared. The sparkling water of the cove glittered in the daylight. Wallace's café and bar was the only establishment in these parts, and it almost looked out of place. Clean windows and cobblestones amongst the wild flowers and berries and old trees along the dirt shore. Tony was happy to see they had the area all to themselves.

He went to the edge of the water where the cattails were lined along the muck and reeds. He knew the carp liked the shallow depths nearby where they could sun, and Tony liked the corner opposite the café. It felt a little more tucked away. His hook was baited with a faux grub tied to the line below the bobber. It was a little old and ratty, but he wasn't looking to haul anything in. He just wanted to watch the world go by for a while.

It wasn't long before his dog was bored of sniffing at the cattails and staring at his rippled reflection on the surface of the water. He meandered his way back to Tony and sat down beside him with a sigh passing through his nose. Tony eventually sat down beside him with just enough distance between them to be able to stroke his head while he waited for a bite on the line.

The thoughts of age and time that had been plaguing him as of late melted away in the early autumn sun. Listening to the forest move around him, the fish and frogs making bubbles that crowned the surface of the lake in front of him, the song of the meadowlark warbling from behind. It was moments like these that made Tony take a deep breath. It let him forget his struggles and doubts along the way and just enjoy the present he had achieved.

His bobber dipped, but he ignored it. Tony looked to his right and saw his dog patiently watching the world around them, too. His dark eyes were focused on something Tony couldn't see a thousand miles away, and he blearily blinked away the urge to sleep in the comfortable sun. Tony ran his hand down his shoulders and back, and the old dog leaned a little more towards him. His eyes squinted shut as he gave in to a nap.

Tony didn't cast out more than once, but they spent the remainder of the day out by the shoreline together. Just sitting. The botanist Parsley, the waitress Katie, and the inventor Louis were among the ones who moseyed on by and saw them but didn't saying anything in an effort not to disrupt their peace.

They'd become a familiar sight around Sugar Village. A staple. Like the sweet scent of lavender from the villa, the whinny of horses from the ranch, and the scatterings of sawdust by the mill, there was an old dog on the farm. One was never seen without the other. If there was the farmer, his dog was close behind him. Nobody wanted it any other way. Especially Tony.

This was when life was best. When he wasn't thinking about deadlines or the demands of the responsibilities weighing on him. When it could just be a long afternoon just the two of them. Out by the lake with no fish to catch and no quota to fill. They could see their friends they'd met, and they could spend a whole day with nothing more to do than to just enjoy it. A lazy Sunday ritual.

Everything from the gusto in which he ate what was offered to him to the endless enjoyment of all day naps. Tony had learned that from the dog. To take life one moment at a time.

The sun was setting fast, and there was a chill in the air. The meadowlark had lone gone to sleep, and the fish had settled deep in the lake. The sky was cast in dim hues of orange and pink as clouds covered the farthest reaches of the horizon. A thin line of purple night was already above the trees behind them. Tony'd become somewhat of a worrywart himself as he thought he didn't want his dog to be out in the cold for long. They'd best be getting on back.

Tony silently promised they'd do this again as he got to his feet and urged his dog to follow him. There was no need. He was up on his paws and lumbering after him like clockwork the moment Tony stood. His shadow, the mutt.

He'd slow his pace and watch his step, and he'd do whatever he had to do so it'd always be that way. The two of them together. As long as he could keep it. Because these slow days meant the most.

The farmer smiled and waved him over. "Come on, ya ol' dog. Let's go home."


	10. We Said Goodbye

For Winnie  
April 23rd, 2005 – March 17th, 2016.

Thank you for the adventure.

* * *

 **We Said Goodbye**

* * *

When winter comes, there is acceptance. The cold will always come around again, and it brings with it a sense precaution. The fodder is collected in the silo, the fields are overturned, and the windows are boarded. Meals are prepared months in advance. It was commonplace to feel its ominous approach, but the repetition desensitized the bite. It was a routine.

For whatever reason, the winter of the heart was easy for him to ignore. He had all of the years of preparation, of knowing. The same inevitable frost that would ice him over. He'd always known, but it still felt like a surprise when winter had hit him in the middle of summer. On a day similar to when they'd first met.

He had heard that some dogs liked to just disappear. They'd take a long walk. Like it was somehow shameful to die. It scared Tony to think he'd turn around one day, and he'd just be missing. But it became clear to him that it was an unfounded fear. At least in his case. His shadow was ever present, if not thinner and agonizingly slower. But always by his side. Even when he begged him not to. Stay. Rest. But old habits die hard, and there was some truth in that old dogs couldn't learn new tricks. He stubbornly stuck by Tony even when it was nothing but pain for him.

So today, in the heat of summer, Tony took a seat against the silo. The chores were done. The crops had been watered down the rows. The chickens were cooped up in peace. The cows were in from the pasture in one last round up. Because he was the sentimental sort, he brought a ham sandwich out of his pocket. He mournfully realized he knew it from the minute he woke up this morning that this was their last day together.

"Here, boy," Tony patted the ground next to him. His dog watched the spot like he was thinking it over. It was a great effort. He finally inched his way down to a laying position, and Tony helped pull him close. He rested his head on his lap and pet his ear with his thumb, still velvet soft. He tore off a corner of the sandwich and held it before his nose. Years back, it would've been snapped up with a threat to his fingers. But he didn't even bother smelling it. Tears filled Tony's eyes as he dropped the food in defeat. He bent in half and hugged his dog as tight as he could. It was all he could do.

Tony hated watching him drain out. Like a rag that'd been wrung dry. He was tired, he was old, he had done his fair share. He'd worked hard, and he just wanted to sleep. Tony couldn't be selfish and pressure him to stay.

A less cynical voice in his head told him he'd done everything he ever could for him. He'd taken him in when the stray had nowhere else to go. He'd washed him up and gave him a place to sleep. They lived off of eggs until his crops started coming in and his animals matured. They had spent lazy summer afternoons off with Tim and quiet evenings by the lake near the cattails. He'd tilled fields, washed clothes, chased chickens, and wrangled cows, and all the while, he'd been the shadow at his side.

The dog was his best friend. And they had to say goodbye.

Tony'd never been the type to just sit down and cry over something. But he couldn't help it as the tears dripped down his nose and itched his chin. His eyes were shut tight, but he could still hear the slow swish of his dog's tail against the dirt, being held so close and listening to his uneven voice. "You can rest now. I'm all grown up. Ya don't have to worry no more."

It felt like a lie when the words formed in his mind, but as he said them with assurance, he knew they were true. They'd be an oath. Tony had come out here a greenhorn without a lick of sense, and this dog had drawn courage and strength out of him - traits he never thought he'd have. He had come to prove something to his late granddaddy, and he'd made a home here. He'd be okay. He'd have to be. The dog had given him the chance to make the most of things, and he'd be okay for him. To give him peace of mind. He'd keep his promise. Somehow. Tony'd show him he left him a better person, even after he was gone.

He grit his teeth as fresh, hot tears formed, trying to deny it. His breath shuddered, and the overcast sky above felt uncaring. The low rumble of distant thunder growled, and it smelled like rain. Any other day, the energy of the atmosphere would've made his heart leap. But his insides were twisted and knotted in bunches. A vice had gripped him and took his breath away.

"I love you so much, ol' boy," the farmer said. The tail had ceased its back and forth. "Ya been so good. You're so, so good. You're a good dog… You can go to sleep."

Tony released his grip enough to sit up. He'd look him in the eyes. He swallowed hard and saw nothing but adoration looking back at him. He forced a smile that became real. "Ya ain't goin' nowhere."

His blinks slowed to a stop that lasted suspiciously long. The quietness was deafening. At the approach of the storm, the world went mute, but Tony's world silenced to nothingness. In that moment, he really wondered if it was going to be okay. If he could do this farming thing without him. If he could really go on without a shadow at his feet.

A moo from the barn snapped him out of it, and he realized he'd passed. It was really over. Tony's hand went to his hat where he pushed it clear off his head and let it fall to the dirt. He looked away, one hand still holding the head resting on his lap.

His thoughts went into auto-pilot as the steps fell into place for what was next. But he forced them to wait. He promised he'd stay with him. And as he had learned, life didn't have to be a race. He wanted to remember this moment. He'd hold onto it as something precious, but he'd never let it eclipse the memories he loved most. Meeting the different villagers, each one lending out a warm hand to them. Learning how to play the flute, building a ramshackle dog house, getting scraps from the table. Cold winter nights and bright spring mornings. The days he'd spent with the old farm dog.

 _You're my best friend. And you'll always be._


End file.
